


it's gonna take a lot (to drag me away from you)

by maddeleine



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, africa the basic reddie song yaknow, also bev is in derry cause i wanted her to be, but that didn't really work ig, this was supposed to be fluffy and happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13599069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddeleine/pseuds/maddeleine
Summary: “I can’t imagine not being with you, Richie,” he whispers, quiet words only met for one person in all the world. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”





	it's gonna take a lot (to drag me away from you)

**Author's Note:**

> i've never posted anything on here before but i figured i might as well since i already have it written. anyways thank you and i hope you enjoy:)

**1994**

 

Eddie knew senior year wouldn’t be easy. He was never under any illusions that he’d fly through all the changes with no problems at all. How could he, when he had so much to lose?

But it’s weird, almost, how there’s certain moments where his heart lurches at the thought of leaving his friends behind for college and there’s others where he clenches his fists into his palms and swears to himself to leave and never return when he gets the chance. He thinks he likes the good moments more - the ones where he’s surrounded by the rest of the Losers, feeling light and alive - the moments that make happiness curl in his chest like a flower in the springtime.

There are the other times, though, the ones in the hallways of Derry High, the ones where voices call out nasty things behind his back and Eddie is  _ furious _ but not stupid enough to try and help himself. He’s snapped more than once, and those are always the moment when he drags himself through Richie’s window with a bloody nose - a circumstance that is ironically reversed from its usual occurrence. 

He’s been going back and forth like this since he was thirteen, and things have only seemed to get worse from there, rivaling the good feelings and nearly overtaking them entirely.

(There are things Eddie will miss about Derry.)

(But there’s a lot more he can’t wait to leave behind.)

They’ve all still got three months before graduation, but things are changing already, and fast. There are whispers that the Aladdin theater is getting torn down to make room for something bigger and more important. Bill’s parents have been nagging him about leaving early ever since Georgie died in the summer of ‘89, and none of the Losers can really blame them, despite how Bill fights it. Eddie and his mother have been walking a taut line the past few years, but he can feel the wire pull every time she tries yet another strategy of guilt-trip to get him to go to UMaine instead of any of the out of state colleges Eddie got into that he actually wants to go to. Eventually, and soon, it will snap.

When they’re all gone, he knows Derry will feel like a wasteland - useless to return to and hardly much of a point of nostalgia.

Eddie will miss the quarry too. The stars at night will always be a sight mythical to anyone who truly gets to look for themselves.

“Eddie?”

A voice shakes him out of his reverie, and Eddie is suddenly aware again of those very stars hanging brightly above him and the gentle rush of the water below. “Hm?”

He realizes it had been Bill to say his name. “You j-just seemed a little out of it, th-that’s all.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Sorry Billy. I was just . . .” He trails off. The air smells like smoke and pine trees and winter coming to its dreary end. “Thinking.”

Bill half-smiles at him, blue eyes twinkling with understanding, and Eddie’s heart tugs painfully. Bill Denbrough has been a steady, reliable force in his life for as long as his memory goes back, and the thought of living without him is scarier than anything than can come from the sewers. 

Across from Eddie, Bev makes a soft noise in her throat, tapping her cigarette and blowing swirling smoke out into the crisp air. It was a habit she had never had the energy to put off. “We’ve all been thinking, haven’t we? Like, we’re fucking eighteen now, and we’re graduating in less than three months. This is the time where we know what we’re doing or we don’t. It’s gonna make us or break us.”

“Don’t go too deep, Bevs,” Richie says, and his voice is just as lighthearted as Eddie knows he tries his best to be. He’s smoking too, and that’s the only reason Eddie currently isn’t trying to leech all the body heat from him. He’s always hated cigarettes. “Everyone who tries even a little has to graduate high school. We’re not special.”

“But we’re something, right?” Ben interjects, his arm holding Beverly to him tightly, likely trying to protect them both from the cold. “I mean, we’ve been through hell and back, and we’re still here. We count for something.”

Bev smiles at him softly, and the gentle, affectionate look in her eyes feels oddly private. Eddie finds himself wishing Richie could hurry the hell up and finish that damn cigarette so he can tuck himself against him like they had been sitting an hour or two ago.

“Of course we do,” Mike says from where he’s sprawled across the dirt, his head in Beverly’s lap and his feet in Bill’s. His voice is doubtless. “Not every group of seven kids beats back a shapeshifting murderous clown.”

The words bring chills down all of their backs, but they’re not really surprised. Mike had always been the one who was brave enough to remember. He was the only one brave enough to stay.

“Got a good fuckin’ point there, Michael,” says Richie after a moment of silence. “If Derry knew a damn thing about what we’ve been through, they’d be on their knees praising us.”

“I wouldn’t exactly go that far,” Stan grumbles. “More likely we’d be thrown in an asylum and forgotten.”

“Oh, Stanny Boy, always bringing in the positivity,” sighs Richie dreamily. “You know how much I love that about you.”

Eddie stares at the dirt beneath his feet, kicking gently and stirring it up. Moments like  _ these _ made him want to freeze-frame them and tuck them all away in a box to go back to later - to relive the feeling of love and appreciation for his friends and their love for each other. The idea of being without any of this grips his chest like a tight fist that cuts off his airways. Eddie gasps suddenly, cutting off the conversation that had started to drag back down to something more casual.

“Eds?” Richie asks, his voice sounding abruptly concerned. “You okay?”

_ Fuck. Fucking shit. Am I having a fucking  _ asthma attack _? _ His chest was clenching painfully, the metaphorical fist tightening.  _ It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay _ , he tried telling himself.  _ You don’t even really have asthma. Placeboes, remember? _

“Don’t - have -” Someone’s hand cups his cheek, cold from the night air. “-  _ inhaler _ ,” he gasps, and the hand on his face disappears as quickly as it appeared with a quiet murmur of  _ shit _ . Vaguely, Eddie can hear the other Losers talking frantically.

“Eddie, Eds, baby, look at me, I’ve got an inhaler.” He sees something stuffed in his face, and he doesn’t really take the time to wonder where the true fuck Richie Tozier would have an inhaler when Eddie himself doesn’t even have one. He pulls it to his mouth, puffing it and taking a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut and listening to the sound of his own breathing for a few heartbeats.

He exhales loudly, his heart pounding in his chest. “Fuck.” Eddie brings the heels of his hands back up to rub his eyes.

Richie’s hands are a warm weight on his elbows, pulling his hands down from his face and tugging him closer so they’re almost nose to nose. “Good?” he asks quietly, in that special voice of his that wasn’t for any show or amusement. Only for Eddie. 

Eddie nods, blinking heavily a few times and swallowing. He feels mortified. The Losers have all taken their turn watching him have an asthma attack, but that hadn’t happened since he was barely fifteen and he prided himself in the fact. The asthma had only been fabricated by his mother, after all.

His face burns. “Fuck,” he says again, voice hoarse, speaking to all of them this time. “Sorry. I didn’t think I -”

“Don’t you fucking dare apologize, Eddie Kaspbrak,” snaps Beverly. Her eyes are filled with concern. “That’s not exactly something you can control.”

When Eddie looks at the others, he can tell they agree.  _ Especially _ Richie, apparently, because his mouth seems to be open in an indignant protest of his boyfriend’s apology that had been cut off by Bev.

“I - I know that. I just - I don’t even have asthma. It doesn’t even make sense.”

This time, Stan cuts in.

“That’s not your fault either, Eddie,” he says firmly. “That’s your mom’s, and that’s another problem for another day, okay? Sonia Kaspbrak is a demon from a realm not even Satan himself has seen. Don’t feel bad.”

Richie’s lip twitches and he pulls Eddie to him so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You’re Jewish, Stan,” he says offhandedly, and Eddie lifts his hand to the one hanging off his shoulder to lace them together.

Stan’s understanding expression drops instantly. “Dear God, Richie. Does nothing get through your head?” 

Richie grins for real, and the tense atmosphere dissipates surprisingly easily. “I’m not saying I  _ disagree _ , Stan the Man.”

Que Stan’s cross sigh. “Then what were you saying, Richie?”

Someone taps Eddie on the shoulder, and he shifts to look over. 

“Hey,” Bill whispers. “You sh-sure you’re o-k-kay?”

“I’m okay,” Eddie says softly. “I mean, not any worse than anyone else, I guess, besides the fake asthma attack or whatever, and that won’t scar me for life. Might scar my mom, but not me.”

Bill grins. “R-right. Well, if you ever want to talk about any-th-thing, we’re best friends, right? You can t-t-trust me.”

Eddie’s chest warms. “I know, Big Bill. Trust me. Thanks.”

“Anyt-t-time, Kaspbrak.” He winks, shifting back to tuck himself into Stan’s side, even as he bickers relentlessly with Richie. Bill pecks his cheek and Stan cuts himself off in the middle of a particularly expressive comeback to narrow his eyes at his boyfriend. Eddie can see the beginnings of a smile twitching stubbornly at the ends of his mouth.

On Eddie’s other side, next to Richie sit Bev, Ben, and Mike, and they all seem to be talking offhandedly about school projects. Ben catches his eye for a moment and smiles at him, looking happy and nearly carefree. He and Bev are going to college together, turns out. Eddie’s ridiculously happy for them both. Possibly a little jealous of their luck. He grins back tiredly.

“Hey Eds,” Richie murmurs, lips moving against Eddie’s temple. “What were you thinking about? Ya know, earlier.”

Eddie shivers as a gust of wind stirs their hair, scooting as close to Richie as he can get, practically on his lap. Richie wraps his free arm around Eddie’s waist, pulling him against his chest. Eddie sighs; Richie’s like a human radiator. “A lot. Leaving. College. Missing you guys.”

He can feel the movement when Richie swallows. “That is a lot, Eddie Spaghetti.” Eddie wrinkles his nose at the nickname, but he’s too exhausted and cold to protest. “But, you know. New stuff can be exciting.”

Eddie tilts his head back to look at Richie in surprise. “Really? You think that?”

His boyfriend shrugs. “My mom used to tell me that when I was little, every night before school started. I would get pretty damn nervous.”

Eddie shifts upwards to kiss him softly and gently. Richie’s cheeks are flushed and his glasses are crooked. His hair is a tangled mess of dark curls that blend in with the night sky, the reflections bouncing off of them like little illusions of stars. “She was right, then. I’m excited to finally leave Derry and escape my mother once and for all. College, too, I guess. But then I’ll start to think about the Losers, and about you and  _ us _ and it’s like none of the rest of it matters if I can’t be with you - with all of you.” The wind is brisk and stings his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s crying. “I can’t imagine not being with you, Richie,” he whispers, quiet words only met for one person in all the world. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Richie’s eyes are dark and deep and so easy to fall into. His hands come up and he wraps them both tight around Eddie’s waist, pulling the both of them together so tightly that Eddie almost can’t feel the icy air. Eddie wraps his own arms around Richie’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut.  _ Maybe I am crying _ , he thinks. 

When he speaks, Richie’s voice is choked like he’s holding off his own tears. “Eds,” he breathes, his lips moving next to Eddie’s ear. “Eddie, Eddie, Eds. You’re my whole fucking world, do you know that? I would do anything in the goddamn universe to make you happy.” Eddie squeezes tighter, his knees on either side of Richie’s hips so he’s sitting completely in the other boy’s lap. He’s definitely crying now, and his tears leave a wet spot on Richie’s dumb flannel shirt. They’re both wrapped in their own world, deaf and blind to anything but each other.

“We’re gonna be okay, baby,” Richie whispers. “Nothing in this whole, infinite, crazy world could ever take me away from you, okay? College is just a bump in the road. We’re gonna get through this.”

Eddie wants more than anything to be able to believe him, to wrap himself up in false hope and the illusion that they could do anything as long as they loved each other. But they had both seen the proof that there are bigger things than moving away in the world, and when Eddie pulls back and looks into Richie’s eyes again, he can tell he doesn’t believe his words either.

Either way, Eddie kisses him fiercely, forgetting about their friends and shoving Richie back to climb over him.  _ I’m never gonna lose this _ , he thinks hopelessly.  _ I’m never losing him. _

 

**2004**

 

New York blares everywhere around Eddie, surrounding him with bright billboards and flashy cars and stores.

He’s been living here for about four years now and he still doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. People of all sorts scuttle around, some dressed elaborately and expensively and others the complete opposite. Since he started his job as a chauffeur in 2001, he’s not really had much trouble financially, but he understands what it’s like to be in NYC as no one making it big. Most people weren’t, actually, but the simple  _ hugeness _ of the city made it hard to think otherwise.

He’s got no one to pick up tonight, so he’d planned earlier in the week to take Myra out to one of those flashy places in New York she loved so much. She’d fretted at first about how she ‘could never make him stay out late on a night before he has to work,’ fluttering her pale chubby hands around her face in dramatic movements that honestly made Eddie want to roll his eyes and tell her that  _ actually, he remembered that he had a job that night _ . He’d barely held himself back, and eventually Myra gave up her act and agreed to come.

Which is where they were now - sitting in traffic, waiting for the light to take its sweet time turning green, on the way to their fancy scheduled dinner at a place Eddie can’t even remember the name of. 

“Eddie, dear,” says Myra in her squeaky, pitched voice, “can we turn on the radio? If we really do have to live in such a loud, unpleasant place we can at least try and not pay attention to the ruckus.”

Not commenting on how Myra is only in the passenger’s seat, not the back, and could very well reach the radio herself, Eddie presses the button. There’s some ridiculous song on the radio that they can both at least agree not to like, so Eddie lets Myra flick through the channels until she gets to something she wants to hear.

He’s doing pretty well on zoning out the background noise and half-dozing at the wheel - the line hasn’t moved for about ten minutes - before he hears a pleased exclamation. “Oh, wonderful!” she says, turning the volume knob up a good portion. “It’s him. I heard him yesterday when I was coming home from work, Eddie, he’s pretty hilarious. You should definitely listen before you fall asleep right there and something awful happens.”

Eddie sighs.  _ Maybe I shouldn’t have offered to take her out tonight _ , he thinks to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Technically, he and Myra were together, and he sometimes wondered if she knew or even cared that he didn’t love her at all the way he was supposed to. In his teenage years, Eddie Kaspbrak was about as straight as a rainbow, and everyone who knew him well was aware of it. Not that he could think of those friends he used to have. They’d likely been pushed down to the farthest corner of Eddie’s mind by everything else that preoccupies it. Nothing about his sexuality had changed since then except the fact that it was concealed.

Myra, unlike these faceless old friends, was seemingly blissfully unaware of anything odd about the relationship between her and Eddie.

“Isn’t he delightful, Eddie, dear?” Myra chirps, turning the volume up a tad more. 

Eddie flinches, zoning back into the present, where Myra is still babbling.

“A bid morbid, maybe, but a little mischievous fun now and then isn’t a bad thing.” Her giggle is high and playful.

“He’s a riot, Myra,” Eddie says tiredly, and decides to listen simply because the traffic isn’t clearing up yet and he’s bored out of his fucking mind. The host is making some dumb joke, and while it isn’t horrible, it isn’t exactly what Eddie would call comedic genius. No, the reason Eddie keeps listening has little to do with the mediocre comedy attempt. It’s the voice of this man. The different personalities each sentence harbor pluck a distant string in Eddie’s memory that he just can’t grasp tightly enough to bring into light.

The voice is familiar, almost that of a dream or a movie. Which would make sense, probably; it isn’t uncommon for voice actors to be gifted in the sort of job that gets them up as a comedian or something.

As the tug of memory fades, the light turns green. Eddie and Myra drive on.

  
  



End file.
